


Home Soon

by PrittlePrince



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Explicit reference to sex but no actual sex, Johnny wants to hold Mark's hand, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrittlePrince/pseuds/PrittlePrince
Summary: A quiet, unexpected moment.Mark's heart pangs for Johnny. He watches him out of the corner of his eye, cataloguing every smile, every look of contemplation. Sometimes, he thinks he sees Johnny watching him too.Then one day— Johnny takes his hand.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 36
Kudos: 217





	Home Soon

**Author's Note:**

> Just a wee drabble as I work through some thoughts on my SpookFest fic! I just had to get it out!
> 
> Many thanks to my perfect wife, who looked this over for me right away last night so I could kind of go to bed knowing it was ready to post in the morning! I love you bb!
> 
> This isn't much, but I really wanted to write something sweet and these two are just so in love...
> 
> I hope you like it! Every comment, kudos is appreciated : )
> 
> twt
> 
> cc

Their knuckles glance against each other, and Mark keeps his chin held down towards his chest, burrowed into the double-wrapped scarf that laps behind him in the breeze. 

His fingertips are tingling with the cold, and it's so obvious that he should just bend his elbow and put his hand in his pocket- at least- like any sane man would. And so too should Johnny, with his breath a visible little cloud twisting from the corners of his mouth as he speaks.

It’s too cold, after all, to walk, unhurried, down the path that decides their neighborhoods, their coats glancing against one another, slipping in the light snow from earlier in the day. It’s just too cold.

Mark sees it in the pink of Johnny’s cheeks, in the way he bites at his bottom lip in a way Mark knows will split and bleed later. It’ll draw his eye— more than Johnny’s irresistibly curled lips usually do. 

Mark feels hazy with it, swaying internally at the magnetism of him. Johnny glows against the pale backdrop of a clouded sky, of the cedar creaking in the background with a sudden wind. Mark is painfully aware of it, just as he’s painfully aware of his little crush. His not so little crush. His chest-constricting, panic-inducing little crush that is definitely a thing, but Mark is trying very hard to not make it a _thing_.

Their fingertips glance again, and this time, with a little chuckle, Johnny takes Mark’s hand and threads their fingers before pushing them both into one deep silk lined pocket. Mark is steady through it all, even as his pulse races. He wiggles his fingers between Johnny’s in the warmth of Johnny’s own pea coat. 

Johnny automatically falls into pace with him, and Mark knows it might just be to hide their joined hands from any strangers target meet on the way, but he has to grin at Johnny’s sudden leisurely pace. His head is tilted up and away, as though surveying the sky for what is clearly an incoming storm. 

They should really hurry home, Mark surmises, but he wouldn’t dare to break the charm of their joined hands, of the way his heart races. It’s selfish when Johnny doesn’t know his true feelings, but Mark can’t imagine stopping him when Johnny brushes their shoulders together.

Johnny tries to catch his eye, tilting his head forward, chin dipped so he can watch Mark from the corner of his eye. Mark can see him clear as day.

He huffs in return, false annoyance drawing lines between his eyebrows but Johnny wipes them away so easily with his persistence, like the sun burning through a layer of fog. He squeezes Mark’s hand, and his heart in turn. 

Mark earns a little privacy by tucking his head again to watch the sidewalk pass beneath them, but the smile he hides into his scarf is for Johnny alone.

He often finds this is the best way to make time pass a little more quickly. There are times when one finds themselves needing to get home quickly, and time drags miserably with the weight of their journey. Returning home, sobbing, after running away for the first time. Counting the steps back to his apartment after his first big breakup, needing desperately to be alone. Mark remembers well— days getting home from school a little breathless, cursing under his breath as he shed his wet boots and socks and dove under the covers of his bed until he was dry.

It’s only fall, but today the winter winds blow in early, and on the wooded path leading between their apartments, Mark finds he seeks solace from the sharp sting of the wind. Within a few moments he easily forgets the proximity of Johnny’s hand to his own as a large snowflake lands on his nose and he crosses his eyes to watch it melt.

“Oh,” he says, frowning at the sky, and a few more snowflakes twirl through the air to land and melt immediately against his cheeks.

Johnny watches him where they’re paused on the pathway. Here, the dim sun barely breaks through the trees, and the air is heavy and wet and cold, smelling deeply of soil and roots and crisp with frozen air. Mark’s hair clings to his temples beneath his beanie and Johnny’s eyes rest easily there, dark and soft in the fog.

It’s early...far too early for the rush of snow that sweeps across the path, but sometimes things are like that. They both raise their arms to their faces, gritting their teeth against the sudden chill.

“Cmon,” Mark mutters, squeezing Johnny’s hand and pulling him a little off the path and further under the cover of trees.

Johnny follows his lead, and Mark breaks their laced fingers to pull his scarf from his mouth. The wool is damp, and sticks to his chin. Wet, it smells earthy like sweet hay.

“Yuck,” Mark mutters, looking down to where the snow is landing and disappearing almost immediately around his boots. The ground isn’t frozen enough yet to allow the snow to stick, but it’ll certainly leave a hell of a mess. Mud, and frozen puddles if the temperature dips overnight. Mark tsks.

A chuckle startles him from his pondering and when he looks up to Johnny he feels how the tension in his own face releases. He must have been frowning.

“You look like you’re wrestling with some... feelings.” Johnny is teasing him, as he is wont to do. He can’t resist when Mark gets his thinking face on. The tongue between the teeth. The frown... troubled, Johnny often calls him. 

Mark burns under his attention today, though. It feels like Johnny is always watching him lately, and it makes Mark even more selfish, hungry for it.

“It’s going to be gross later,” Mark explains, sounding more petulant than he really feels to divert attention. He toes at the mud with his boot, and refuses to look up when Johnny steps closer. The smell of his cologne wafting from the bared warmth of his collar is mind-numbing, but Mark is trying really hard, and so he blinks slowly and breathes deeply through it, because it’s hard not to. He doesn’t react. When he closes his eyes, it’s against the rush of wind and snow that shudders through the tall cedars.

“It’s gross now,” Johnny complains in kind, and his voice is quiet, warm, somewhere near the shell of Mark’s ear, closer than Mark expects. The wind blows again, and Mark narrows his eyes and turns his face away from the sting. The damp wool of Johnny’s peacoat is scratchy against his skin, but an arm at his waist makes it too easy to stay where he is.

He closes his eyes and feels the weight of it, the magnetism. He breathes deep, and his heart aches with his small crush. The wind whips around them, and Mark wishes between his scarf and beanie he’d dressed warm enough, but it’s the open lapel of Johnny’s coat that hides hims from the worst of it.

Johnny’s nose is cold where he turns it into Mark’s temple and Mark lets out a shaky breath, disbelieving. His heart thuds once, hard. 

His hand jumps to Johnny’s back, and that’s when he realizes how closely they’re pressed. The moss and damp, brittle bark rub off from the tree Johnny leans against and onto his coat and the rich smell invades Mark’s senses, even as snow freezes the air in his nose.

He goes easily when Johnny’s fingers hesitantly spread over his jaw. He still doesn’t open his eyes, face tilted up and jaw lax when Johnny noses across his cheek.

The first brush of his lips is teasing, almost, and makes Mark ache so badly he feels it in his stomach like poison. He wonders what that feeling is— is it doubt, longing? Worry and desire?

Johnny’s mouth moves softly over his own again, deliberate, and when his hand smoothes over the front of Mark’s windbreaker, there’s nothing to stop the noise that escapes Mark. He whimpers, soft, and Johnny hums, spurred on.

He moves slowly, hand finding the shape of Mark’s waist, and Mark thinks again of what they’ve sacrificed to today’s cold just to touch one another. The weight of his hand is immediately addicting, and Mark’s mind runs away from him. So easy can he image rocking in Johnny’s lap, wide hands holding him upright, grip so wide Mark deliriously wonders if Johnny’s hands could touch if he tried… he knows they can’t, but even the thought of Johnny’s hands on him draws a moan from him that allows Johnny’s kiss to deepen.

Mark laughs against his lips when Johnny awkwardly tries to turn them. His grin feels so good against the corner of Mark’s mouth and his breath leaves him when Johnny finally succeeds, caging him against the tree and pressing into his body.

The wind shudders through the trees again and in the canopy of the cedar and snow, Mark thinks he might just perish. His heart feels like it’s burst from a prison, preening under Johnny’s attention as plush lips find his own again.

He wonders how he was ever so worried, so paranoid, that Johnny would never return his affections. He thinks back to the thousands of moments he would have sworn he’d misread and how now they’re apparent in the hot press of Johnny’s mouth to his jaw, and to the possessive curl of his fingers over Mark’s hips. 

Want oozes from Johnny in waves, and Mark sighs through every languid kiss, and moans softly when Johnny runs his hands along the back of his thighs and _squeezes_. Snow lands on his face, and soon his cheeks are wet with it, to the point that Mark has to laugh, dipping his chin to ineffectually dry himself on Johnny’s coat.

Eyes hooded, Johnny looks a little put-out, and way more turned-on that Mark would have expected. His hands continue to roam up Mark’s sides, and his face follows Mark’s, eyes trained on his lips.

“Lets go inside...” Mark suggests, fiddling with the front of Johnny’s parted coat. He feels the heat of him, insulated from the cold. Johnny sways forward, drawn to Mark’s palms spread over his taut stomach. They’d planned on heading back to Johnny’s anyhow, and they could make it there quickly without catching cold if they left now. The snow gusts, and Mark longs to slip into the folds of Johnny’s coat and breath him in, now that he knows he can, if he wants.

The thought brings him pause— he knows they’ll have to discuss what this means. Mark doesn’t know if he’ll survive if this is little more than an infatuation for Johnny, but something about the way Johnny watches him tells Mark he doesn’t have to worry.

“Can I kiss you again, or are you looking for an escape?” Johnny asks, but there’s little tease in it. Mark can tell he’s worried.

“Both,” Mark laughs, and Johnny crowds him against the tree again, capturing his lips in a gut-wrenching kiss that has Mark dizzy in seconds. Mark wants to laugh, joy bubbling up inside of him when Johnny slides a thigh between his own and holds Mark against hims with his grip tight on Mark’s hips.

Mark looks back on the heartbreak he’s felt and thinks of it as such a small thing, now. How did it seem to insurmountable, when Mark feels how Johnny aches for him in every kiss, in every rough touch.

His crush had felt so heavy but now Johnny is here, against him, wanting, adoring him with his fingers pushing softly into Mark’s hair, ignorant of his hat falling into the snow and steeping in mud. He pries Mark’s lips with his own, swiping his tongue boldly into Mark’s mouth and against his own. Mark _burns_ under his affections.

It takes what little resolve he has to pull away a second time, and he keeps their distance with his palms flat on Johnny’s chest.

“Fuck— I want you,” Johnny whispers breathlessly into the clouded air between them, as though in apology, his head dipped down towards Mark’s. His hair is wet from melted snow and curling against his cheeks and Mark fucking aches for him, aches to taste him again, stripped of their stupid wet clothes and soaked boots, laid bare on Johnny’s fucking ridiculous squeaky futon. 

Mark knows the fucking _smell_ of his sheets, faded cologne and soap, and he craves it now. Countless hours spent pressed side by side on that couch, legs tangled as they played video games and Mark wants nothing more than to turn it into something _different_ now. He wants Johnny to undress him on that fucking squeaky futon and fuck him with his tongue, and then his cock, until Mark is drooling precome across his sheets, marking his claim. Johnny makes Mark feel crazy.

“Like I said-“ Mark utters, rubbing their noses together. “Let’s go inside.” The tips of his ears are starting to burn and even the heat of their bodies doesn’t protect him from the bone-deep chill that runs through him as the wind gusts through the trees.

“I’m hard,” Johnny releases on a breath, face red. He drops his nose to Mark’s shoulder, rubbing there, taking a deep breath.

Mark considers sucking him off, right there in the snow and mud, but he’s already so frozen it won’t be enjoyable for either of them. The joints in his hands ache.

Johnny must see the look on his face as he ponders it because he’s the first to step back, sheepish. 

Mark leans up to kiss him, to assure him. They’ll be near invisible through the storm anyway. He’s riled up too, and the thought of Johnny touching him- _god_ the thought of his big hand on Mark’s cock. He blinks through it, pinned in place as Johnny gazes down at him, heat in his eyes and on his cheeks. The flush travels down his throat and disappears into his collar and Mark can’t wait to put his mouth there.

Johnny takes hold of Mark’s wrist and leads them back out onto the path. The wind is worse here without the cover of trees, and Mark swears snow will cling to his eyebrows. He pulls his scarf closer and tilts his face into Johnny’s arm as they walk.

“I like you,” he blurts, hoping the wind will carry his voice away. Johnny’s just the right height, and although Mark already knows this it is still such a pleasant surprise when his mouth so easily lands on Mark’s cheek.

“I like you more,” Johnny breathes, and Mark almost believes it. He’s shameless, his mouth dropping down to kiss beneath Mark’s ear and Mark has to hold onto his arm to keep his balance on the snowy path.

“Be my boyfriend,” Johnny urges, confident, and Mark swears he’s nodding before he’s even had a chance to think about it. There’s a fire in his chest, in his gut.

He doesn’t stop Johnny when he’s swept into his arms again, when Johnny’s mouth curls against his own. His hair is so wet it’s plastered to his skin, and the snow-turning-rain drips off the end of his nose and into the collar of Mark’s coat. The weather is quickly shifting, and their clothes are already ruined. Mark will make Johnny pay when he can finally drag the handsy man home.

“You’re gross,” he complains when Johnny’s hands predictably find their place on Mark’s waist again, and his kisses land over Mark’s cheeks until they’re both giggling.

“Yeah, but I’m in love.” Johnny chides, and Mark finds he relaxes easily into Johnny’s embrace, lulled by the rumble of his voice and the smell of the woods on him. The wet wool of his coat is familiar. Mark loves him.

“Yeah,” he says, as they lean together in the rain. “Me too. I’m in love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you!
> 
> twt
> 
> cc


End file.
